


Zone of Turbulence

by DandelionDrabbles (AnonymousDandelion)



Series: Dialogue Prompt Fills [13]
Category: Good Omens (Radio), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst dialogue prompt, Anxiety, Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Comfort, Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Canon, and head petting, sometimes all you need is an understanding "ah", violence against a wine glass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27681265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousDandelion/pseuds/DandelionDrabbles
Summary: “You seem… agitated,” Aziraphale hazards.“I’mcalm!” Crowley practically screams. To demonstrate, he throws his empty goblet across the room.(Angst dialogue prompt fill #4.)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Dialogue Prompt Fills [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1996120
Comments: 14
Kudos: 110
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	Zone of Turbulence

**Author's Note:**

> See prompt in end notes.

By rights, Crowley should be calm. He’s alive. At liberty. Safe.

He has no excuse for _not_ being calm.

He tells himself this, over and over. Snarls it at his houseplants. Growls it into his pillow. Hisses it in the Bentley.

He _is_ calm. Sometimes.

Except, every time Crowley _catches_ himself being calm, his emotions burst into unwelcome, unstoppable chaos: _no no not right not okay not safe not calm wrong wrong wrong wrong_

~ ~ ~

“Is something wrong, Crowley?”

Crowley jumps. The goblet he’s holding explodes, wine soaking the bookshop carpet, shards of glass embedding themselves in Crowley’s palm.

Crowley glowers impartially at glass, wine, hand, and carpet. Every object hastily returns to its previous condition: goblet full, skin whole, floor clean.

“Is something wrong?” Aziraphale reiterates from across the table.

“Nah,” says Crowley, and drains his goblet in one gulp.

“Are you…?”

“No!” Crowley insists — then realizes he has no idea what he just denied, since Aziraphale didn’t finish the sentence.

“Ah.” Aziraphale hesitates. “You seem… agitated,” he hazards.

“I’m not!”

“You…”

“I’m _calm!”_ Crowley practically screams. To demonstrate, he throws his empty goblet across the room. It shatters against the wall.

Aziraphale flinches. Instantly, Crowley is awash with regret. “Shoot, sorry, I didn’t…”

Aziraphale lifts both hands, probably meant to be placating. “No, no, it’s fine, my fault, I shouldn’t have…”

And _that_ — Aziraphale blaming himself — is the one thing Crowley can’t stand. Bugger. “Not you,” Crowley snaps. “Me.”

Aziraphale frowns, but doesn’t interrupt. Waiting for Crowley to continue.

Which means Crowley has to continue. _Bugger._

Crowley lets his forehead fall against the tabletop, so he doesn’t have to look at Aziraphale. “I’m agitated,” he admits.

“Really?” The angel’s tone is carefully neutral.

Crowley groans.

A beat.

“Could I help?” Aziraphale murmurs.

All the undertones there are distracting. Caution, concern, caring… “Dunno,” Crowley mutters.

“Ah.”

Feather-light, fleeting, something touches the back of Crowley’s head. Crowley tenses; almost recoils; and then, somehow recognizing the novel sensation for what it was, deliberately stays still.

Aziraphale’s fingertips return, hovering.

Crowley doesn’t move.

Aziraphale’s palm comes to rest against Crowley’s head, pressure soft but solid. 

Finally, Crowley mumbles, “‘S nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Just don’t know how to… to _be_.”

“How to be…?”

“Calm. Safe. This. Y’know.”

“Ah.” Astonishingly, Aziraphale sounds almost like Crowley’s garbled explanation is intelligible.

“‘S just…” Crowley sighs. Letting it out. “My emotions have been turbulent for so long, I’m not sure how to react. How to _not_ be turbulent.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale repeats. His thumb begins to move, tracing slow, sympathetic circles on Crowley’s scalp. Wordlessly reassuring.

Still facing the tabletop, Crowley closes his eyes.

~ ~ ~

Eventually — not without reluctance — Crowley sits up. Aziraphale removes his hand. They exchange a smile, at first uncertain, then widening.

Aziraphale flicks a finger, restoring Crowley’s goblet to unbrokenness. Crowley pours them both more wine.

It’s late by the time Crowley notices that the turbulence in his head is quieter than ever before.

Even once he notices, it stays quiet for the rest of the evening.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "My emotions have been turbulent for so long, I’m not sure how to react."
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you liked this. If you have any thoughts, please share in the comments!


End file.
